


The Parenting Highlights of Spencer Reid

by HollyKasakabe



Series: Tumblr Requests [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: 2k, 2nd POV, 2nd Person, Child, Coffee, Cute, Gen, HollyKasakabe, Humor, Other, Reader-Insert, Tumblr request, criminal minds - Freeform, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyKasakabe/pseuds/HollyKasakabe
Summary: Request: Hi, this might be the second time this is sent because the first one just randomly exited the page. In series 9 of criminal minds, Garcia reveals that Spencer has always really wanted children and I was wondering what it would be like if he did have children, could you make a one-time shot of that please? Sorry that it's a bit cliché





	

**Author's Note:**

> Y/N = Your (reader’s) name  
> Y/D/N = Your daughter’s name

_One Hour Old…_

"Do you want to hold her?" You asked Spencer, laying in the bed at the hospital. You were exhausted. It was completely worth staying awake to see your baby, Y/D/N, but you _had_ just been in labor. For every minute longer, you grew more and more weary.

Spencer hadn't left your side. He had been very carefully helping you support Y/D/N with a hand under her head, touching his long fingers gently to her face and swaddled body. His amazement when she had grabbed one of his fingers in her fist had been incredible. You'd never seen anything like it. Despite all this, he had yet to hold her.

"I – I don't know," he stuttered, leaning back with fear written on her face. "I – I'm not- I don't do this very often-"

"Spencer," you sighed with kind exasperation. "You've handled bombs, guns, and taken care of serious injuries while waiting for paramedics, but you don't think you can hold your own child?"

"There's a huge difference!" He defended, then looked down to her with so much love and awe that you thought your heart would burst. "She is so much more important than any bombs or guns or wounds."

_One Year Old…_

You were glad that you had pushed the issue of having Spencer get used to holding Y/D/N, but it had become his favorite pastime and for the past year, you used him more than you used a stroller. Nowadays you would push a baby carriage in front of you but it would have no baby in it, because she was busy being coddled and played with in Spencer's arms. He always liked having her where he could see and feel her every second so he knew that she was safe.

"Spencer," you sighed affectionately while you looked at the loves of your life – your best friend, lover, and co-parent, and your baby, whom you loved more than you had thought possible. "If you want to get all of these groceries, you're going to have to put Y/D/N in her stroller and help carry."

_Three Years Old…_

It became apparent early on that Y/D/N was going to be a handful. From the day she could walk, she was getting into everything that she could possibly get into, much to your and Spencer's chagrin. You were constantly picking up after her and toddler-proofing things that you hadn't even thought needed to be toddler-proofed.

You still weren't sure how she managed to get the mix from the cupboard, but when she wanted brownies, she wanted brownies. You left her alone watching TV in the sitting room for two minutes at most while you answered the door and signed for your USPS package, and when you came back, your daughter was giggling madly in the kitchen.

You took a deep breath – it was her maniacal laughter that meant she'd done something wrong – and went to go check on her. She was _covered_ in the brown powder from a box of brownie mix.

"Bath time," you announced.

When Spencer came home halfway through the bath and saw the mess in the kitchen that you hadn't gotten to clean up yet, he was very worried something had happened, and sprinted up the stairs so quickly he almost fell. When you explained what had happened, he regained his composure, calmed down like he _hadn't_ just challenged the Flash to a race, and started talking to Y/D/N excitedly about how smart she was to get the mix. Then he advised her to add the milk and eggs next time. You hoped she wasn't quite advanced enough to try dumping those out onto the floor, too. You'd much prefer waiting until she was big enough to get a mixing bowl.

_Five Years Old…_

"Daddy!" Y/D/N screamed delightedly as Spencer pushed her in the kid's swing on the playground. It was an overcast day so there weren't many kids or parents out to play, but it was one of the times when you didn't have work and Spencer and Y/D/N both had cabin fever, so you were outvoted. "Higher, higher!"

"But you're already going so high!" He objected, continuing to push her swing. "Y/N, tell her how high she's going!"

"Eh, I've gone higher," you said nonchalantly and sipped some of your water. You looked up and smirked at Spencer. That was what he got when he dragged you away from watching the premiere of your favorite show to go to the park after assuring you that you wouldn't need a jacket. You wanted a jacket.

Your words incited another squeal from Y/D/N. "I wanna go higher than Mommy!" She declared proudly and started swinging her legs vigorously. "Higher, Daddy, higher, higher!"

"Y/N," Spencer said, sounding deceptively pleasant. "Why don't _you_ come push her so that you can make _sure_ she goes as high as you?"

Your eyes widened and you stared at him in shock. He was really going to get back at you? Yes, yes, he was. And going by your kid's excited agreement, you didn't have much of a choice.

_Eight Years Old…_

"Mommy?" You woke up to a quiet voice in your bedroom and a hand pushing on your shoulder. "Mom?" It was a Saturday morning, you were trying to sleep in, and your baby girl looked like she'd been crying.

"Hey, sweetie," you roused yourself quickly and sat up in the bed against the headboard, opening your arms. Light filtered in so you could see clearly and you smelled bacon from your kitchen. "What's wrong?"

"Mom…" Her lip trembled. "Am I adopted?" You could see how scared she was of the answer.

You, on the other hand, were completely blown away, and almost started laughing. "Of course not," you promised. "What gave you that idea?" You felt horrible, but you were snickering. She scowled at you meanly.

"Dad was teaching me about genetics," she said with a pout, calming down. You rolled your eyes internally. Spencer was always teaching your child ahead of the schools, which meant she had fantastic marks and her teachers were all impressed, but sometimes she misunderstood things, and it led to _interesting_ conversations. "He said if two parents have a trait, then they pass it down to their baby. You guys are always drinking coffee but I don't drink coffee. Does that mean I'm not your baby?"

 _Coffee._ You sat there for a second in shock. This was about _coffee._

"Spencer!" You shouted, hugging Y/D/N close on your lap. Bacon or not, you were all going to have a conversation about how, adopted or not, Y/D/N was your baby. And you were also going to have to explain that drinking coffee isn't genetically determined. While you were at it, you should probably add in an impromptu lesson about recessive genes, just in case.

_Twelve Years Old…_

You had known it was coming, but when _that day_ finally arrived, Y/D/N was not the one most embarrassed about it. In fact, if you didn't know better, _Y/D/N and Jack_ were the adults, and _Spencer_ was the one freaking out.

You and Spencer were on a case with the rest of the team, sans Hotch. While ducking from the bullet to take cover, he had taken a tumble and cracked one of his ribs. Because it was only a week ago, he wasn't quite in ship-shape to travel and work yet, so he was staying home to take care of Jack and Y/D/N for you.

In the middle of debriefing the precinct, you got a text message. In case it was about one of the kids, you opened up your phone while Rossi presented the locals with the profile. It was from your daughter.

_Mom, where in the mall are those, um, female dispensers? Give them a quarter and they give you help?_

Having had many an experience where your time of the month hit unexpectedly, you just shook your head and started to type a reply when you got a new text.

_Never mind, turns out Jack had some with him. He carries them for his girlfriend. Man, was that embarrassing to ask. :P_

You put your phone away and tuned back in to Rossi, but that wasn't the end of it, oh, no. You discounted what would happen when Hotch found out– he thought to call Y/D/N's parents, except… he called Spencer first. And instead of Y/D/N being the one to panic about the blood, it was Spencer. The anxious father pulled you aside and demanded that you both book tickets back home on the next flight, because what if it wasn't a female thing and something was wrong? What if she was scared? What if Hotch, who was _not_ a woman, didn't know how to help?

You put your foot down. Your daughter was _much_ more important to you than work, but your job was to prevent people from being murdered. Hotch had lived with Haley for years; Y/D/N was in capable… if uncomfortable… hands. In the end, Spencer's haste to get home solved the case about twice as fast as he probably would have under other circumstances.

_Thirteen Years Old…_

"You're thirteen now, Y/D/N! This is a great opportunity! You're not getting another number like this until you're over sixty!"

"But Dad, I don't want to wear this thing. It's stuffy."

"I know it's out of character for you, but that's _why_ you should wear it! Halloween is when you're supposed to be someone that you're not!"

"Dad, I already stuck my hand in pumpkins for you this year. That was disgusting, by the way. Now I'm putting my foot down: if you force me to wear that mask out in public, I am going to tell Mom about who _really_ started a fire in the microwave last week."

_Fifteen Years Old…_

"Dad!" Your daughter ran into the house first and found Spencer completely absorbed in a heavy, thick book that looked like it belonged in a campus bookstore. She hugged him from the side, disregarding the chair. "I got my permit!"

That's right – you had just returned from the DDS. You smiled from the doorway as Y/D/N proudly presented her new driver's permit.

"That's great," Spencer encouraged while he started frowning. You rolled your eyes, able to predict what was coming next. "Hey, Y/D/N, you know, in 2013, over two hundred forty-three thousand minors were in emergency rooms for injuries sustained in car accidents-"

"Dad, don't worry, I aced the written test."

"She did," you contributed helpfully.

"And I bet so did a lot of those two hundred forty-three thousand-"

"Who wants to go on a test drive?" You interrupted, grinning excitedly and holding out your car keys.

Your daughter couldn't move fast enough. "Me!" She shrieked, abandoning Spencer to his book. He gulped and stared at you incredulously. "I wanna!"

_(Bonus!) Seventeen Years Old…_

Y/D/N was driving herself crazy studying for her finals of the year, staying up late and getting behind in sleep because she _really_ wanted to be the top of her class, just like her dad. You and Spencer couldn't be prouder of how hard she was trying, but it was concerning when she started to stay up until well past midnight.

So you decided to offer for her to try coffee. Hardcore coffee. Not the lattes and frappes and iced drinks that she got with her friends at Starbucks and McDonald's.

Within the first sip, she was making a disgusted face. You were convinced she was going to spit it out, until she swallowed, glaring at the mug, gravely insulted. "Ew!" She yelled, shoving it away. "That stuff's gross!"

Spencer had never looked closer to disowning her. You threw your head back laughing.


End file.
